


Hangman Is Coming Down From The Gallows

by gaialux



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hears the police sirens, she knows their time is almost up. <em>Fuck</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hangman Is Coming Down From The Gallows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keerawa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/gifts).



> Considerably AU from s7 onwards and rather dark (and smutty!). Borderline PWP, but there's some angst and external conflict to pull it along as well. Hey, someone offered me the chance to write kinky incest(esque) sex, and I'mma take them up on it.

She knows this is only happening because they're closing in. If she closes her eyes she thinks she can hear the police sirens, even though that's fucking stupid because they're not coming. Not yet. Especially not when they're in the middle of the ocean.

Waves lap at the boat and Dexter presses her against it, almost so hard it hurts but she doesn't care. Doesn't care at all. She's already fucking her brother, already harboring a wanted serial killer. She's already killed for him and would do it again in a heartbeat. She's so far gone that nothing else matters except keeping him safe and focusing on the  _now_.

"Deb--" he says and she's never heard his voice like that before. Caught, lost, and breathy all tied up into one sound.

Something rises in her throat and she doesn't know whether she wants to scream or cry. Instead she settles on a, " _fuck_ " and pulls Dexter closer. She never usually wanted anyone close, even during sex the idea of vulnerability freaked her the fuck out, but this is  _Dexter_ and he's always defied her laws of logic and emotion. Not that he could ever understand that. He's a  _serial killer_ after all. She wants to ask him about that, but there's no time left. There's no time left for anything except this.

He slams her into the side of the boat, hard, and she grasps onto his arms. She hopes there'll be bruises, even if forensics look at them for potential victim. Is this what he does with them? She tries to find his eyes in the moonlight but only catches a glimpse and it tells her nothing. No, she can't believe it. He only kills the bad ones, the ones she needs to lock away. He's  _helping_ her, just trying to make things better in the world. And he's her brother, the one who's there for her more than anyone else.

"I'm sorry," she says into his skin, lips swiping over flecks of sweat. "I should have killed her."

Dexter grunts in response. She hears both  _it's okay_ and  _fuck you_ in the sound. She deserves it, if that's what he's thinking. She deserves everything he gives her because he's a serial killer, she knows the truth, and he's keeping her alive. Alive for reasons she can't even begin to understand and somewhere, in her twisted mind, she thinks it might be because he loves her.

Lifting her face she finds his lips, kisses him. He doesn't kiss back, not really, but he frees his hands and grips onto her waist, pulling her upright and now she  __can see him. His eyes shine in the moonlight and they're so _blank_ , so  _dead_ , she's suddenly having trouble breathing and her own vision blurs with stupid, pathetic tears she has no right to hold. 

Dexter's hands are strong, huge, spanning over her hips and holding her down. She can't even rock forward but still feels herself building and building and the sirens are getting closer and closer. Hysterical laughter bubbles up, flows over, is cast out into the night. Dexter gives her a strange look and she's just glad for a change, for some show of emotion. This is the Dexter she knows, this is the real Dexter. They're wrong. All of them. Herself included, because she saw--

" _Fuck_ ," she says, voice surprising even her with how clear it is. "Come on."

Dexter moves, she moves. The blankness over his eyes returns and she has to look away. The sea is dark, blends in with the sky, and she thinks she can see police lights even though it's impossible. He'll get the lethal injection, or maybe they'll bring back Old Sparkie for him. She'll have to be there to watch her brother -- _best friend, lover, world_ \-- die. _No. No, no, no._

It doesn't take anything more than another glance down at Dexter to send her over the edge, hard enough that white clouds the edge of her vision and she suddenly forgets. They're just on a boat in the ocean like when they were kids -- which is a really fucking weird thought right about now, but Deb's always been a weird fucking person -- and she doesn't know anything. Dexter's her brother.

_Dexter's a serial killer. Dexter's a serial killer. Dexter's a serial killer._

"Dex--" she tries, but at that point Dexter's trying to push her away and she goes, blindly finding her pants and pulling them on. Dexter's already fully dressed again. She wants to reach out to him, but she  _can't_.

He walks off. She knows they're going back.


End file.
